


Comparison

by ZJ_Timekeeper



Category: Girl Genius
Genre: Body Image, Childhood Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Prince Aaronev was a horrible person, Weight Gain, past trauma in general, weight loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 21:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5556506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZJ_Timekeeper/pseuds/ZJ_Timekeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pudginess, Tarvek knew, was one of the risks which accompanied a love of rich foods, and it was doubly true if a tendency toward obesity ran in the family. Acknowledging these realities didn’t make him feel any better as he stared at his reflection, especially when he considered that Gil would probably still look like a Hellenistic marble sculpture after a year-long diet of chocolate éclairs.</p>
<p>Notes at the end contain some thoughts on how weight is portrayed in this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comparison

Tarvek’s hands ran down his sides until he let them rest at the softness settled over his hips. The flesh there stuck out over the hem of his pants just enough to infuriate him. Hands traced further, meeting over his belly. He’d not had anything like visibly defined abdominal muscles in years, but this was a new low. To conform to the contours of his stomach, his hands were definitely _cupped_ , not flat over lean muscle.

Like they would be over Gil’s. No matter what that lout ate, he remained as fit as could be. Pudginess, Tarvek knew, was one of the risks which accompanied a love of rich foods, and it was doubly true if a tendency toward obesity ran in the family. Acknowledging these realities didn’t make Tarvek feel any better as he stared at his reflection, especially when he considered that Gil would probably still look like a Hellenistic marble sculpture after a year-long diet of chocolate éclairs.

The unfairness of it all wormed its way through Tarvek’s mind until it was all he could think about. He wasn’t out of shape! He exercised daily. His arms and legs were proof enough of that.

It didn’t change the fact that Tarvek had started getting fat.

Any observer might have called Tarvek a little chubby, but probably not fat. True, there was no denying what that softness was – it _was_ fat – but Tarvek wasn’t enormously overweight.

Tarvek, though, in the privacy of his own room, was displeased. His father’s inclination toward corpulence was now showing through him, and the last thing Tarvek wanted was to be compared to his father. To say that Aaronev Wilhelm Sturmvoraus had been a despicable person was being uncharitable to the despicable community.

His own father and self-perception aside, Tarvek hoped wildly that he could do something about this new weight gain. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he stopped being attractive to Gil and Agatha. He doubted a small amount of flab would accomplish _that_ , but damn it, _he_ didn’t like it! Knowing his inclination to distrust, Tarvek was aware that a too-negative perception of himself could snowball into intentionally distancing himself from his spouses in the name of self-preservation.

Something would have to be done.

The door creaked open and Tarvek, unthinking, used his Smoke Knight-trained speed to grab and shrug on his shirt before whoever was at the door entered. His fingers were in the middle of deftly buttoning the garment as Gil strode in. “Hey,” came his voice, half-cheerful, half-relieved. He looked for all the world like Tarvek was the answer to his prayers.

Tarvek furiously hoped his line of thought wouldn’t show up in the form of a blush. Surely his heart didn’t pound audibly? Despite not having seen Gil in a week, Tarvek pointedly kept his gaze on his reflection, fastening his buttons. He silently considered that Gil had a point regarding the sheer number of buttons on his garments. Two dozen for one shirt was really excessive, even if it was all the rage in Vienna.

Halfway across the room, Gil paused in his approach, seeing that Tarvek had failed to acknowledge his presence. “Nice to see you, too,” Gil said sarcastically.

“Mm,” Tarvek hummed noncommittally. He probably ought to have said something. Considering they’d only been married for three months, he probably should’ve _looked_ happy to see him, at least. He _wanted_ to! Red fire, he wanted to. He silently cursed himself for reverting to type – weakness, whether in self-perception or actuality, was not to be shown. He was a Smoke Knight, and more to the point, a Sturmvoraus. The revelation of any weaknesses was not permitted, not even to one’s husband.

Never mind that their wedding vows had included something about unconditional love and trust. Old habits did indeed die hard. 

For God’s sake, it was just a little stomach fat! Tarvek knew he was blowing this out of proportion. It wasn’t like it couldn’t be fixed with a healthier diet and a bit more exercise.

Gil raised an eyebrow at him, meeting his gaze in the mirror for a split second before Tarvek returned his attention to those buttons. As he reached the end, he realized his buttoning was uneven, and he’d have to start over again. Tarvek scowled at his reflection.

“You okay?” Gil asked.

“I’m always okay,” Tarvek returned in a distracted tone, focused on undoing the buttons.

“And I’m the Skull Queen of Skraal,” Gil shot back, crossing his arms. “Come on, what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Tarvek snorted. For a brief moment, he considered telling Gil the real issue, but decided it might be best to just deal with the matter privately and not draw attention to it. Not like pointing out his less-than-perfect physique would benefit anyone, or would failing to mention it keep him from cutting certain sweets from his diet.

Instead, he fell back on his training. Hide all weakness unless absolutely necessary. If he was careful, he could probably keep both Gil and Agatha from seeing how much the issue bothered him. His fingers tried and failed to force a button through its hole, and he tried again. “Must you always bring people’s unmentionables into casual conversation?”

“Oh, that’s rich. Last time you saw me, I seem to recall you saying something about wishing I wasn’t wearing any.”

Tarvek glowered. His fingers slipped on the final button. “That was hardly a casual conversation.”

“This doesn’t have to be, either.” Gil waggled his eyebrows comically, something that never failed to make Agatha giggle. Secretly, it amused Tarvek, too.

“I _just_ finished buttoning this shirt!” Tarvek snapped. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was more upset at the thought of redoing the buttons a third time or Gil insinuating that he’d like to see Tarvek without clothes. Ordinarily, such advances would’ve been welcome, but he wasn’t feeling particularly desirable just then.

“So invent a button-doer-upper,” Gil shot back, stepping closer until he was less than a foot from Tarvek. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Eloquent as always,” Tarvek sighed.

Gil responded by placing a hand on Tarvek’s backside. Tarvek gave a strangled gulping noise, and Gil smirked. “Aw, well, at least I’ve not resorted to unidentifiable sounds.”

Tarvek glared at him. “Sometimes, I hate you.”

“Sure, you do.” Gil amiably squeezed his hand (Tarvek twitched) and leaned in to kiss Tarvek’s cheek.

“Gil!” They both turned to see Agatha, who, in her eagerness to properly greet Gil, performed an interesting combination of striding and leaping around the armoire, bed, and bookcase. She threw herself into Gil’s arms, and he caught her easily. Her momentum nudged Gil back into Tarvek, who stumbled and began to wish he’d been a little warmer when Gil had arrived.

“At least _one_ of you is glad to see me,” he said with a grin after their kiss ended.

Agatha frowned and turned to look at Tarvek. “What’s going on?”

Her voice was concerned, curious, and anything but accusatory. Tarvek briefly closed his eyes. He didn’t really deserve them. This didn’t help his mood, and he began to feel irrationally angry at their kindness.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself to calm down. They were married, damn it! This shouldn’t have been his reaction to something which was _his_ problem. This bit of tubbiness hadn’t magically appeared in the last week, so logically, neither Gil nor Agatha found it unattractive. It was the way he viewed himself. Keeping his feelings hidden was only succeeding in his pushing them away—also his fault, which could be fixed by simply opening up. But saying something about it now would force him to reveal something highly personal and a little painful.

Tarvek suppressed a groan. Every time he thought he’d escaped his past, it came roaring back, eager to remind him that escape was impossible. His family, his Smoke Knight instructors, the web of political intrigue surrounding him all his life, everyone who had ever wanted him dead… they all laughed at him, taunting him, telling him that happiness came with trust, and that trust in others gave enemies a foothold. Trust meant death.

His father – balding, fat as ever, and cruel as a northern winter – loomed in his mind’s eye. If he didn’t trust Gil and Agatha, would he turn into a monster, too? Would he isolate himself until he became so insane, even when not in the grips of the Spark, that he could rationalize all kinds of evil, like sacrificing the lives of his own children? Would he be so far gone that he wouldn’t be able to recognize just how reprehensible he’d become?

“It’s nothing,” he said stubbornly. At the least, he should delay this admission until he thought of a better way to bring it up. It wouldn’t do to hide something like this forever, but… not yet. Just not yet. If he could have just a bit more time, he could distance himself from the problem enough to logically think of what to say without sounding like the fop Gil teasingly accused him of being.

Not that Gil was entirely wrong, Tarvek though sourly.

“Why don’t I believe that?” Gil asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Something in his eye gleamed, giving the impression that he was prepared to beat an answer out of Tarvek if necessary. Tarvek curled his lip. It might be nice to vent some frustration on Gil if it came to blows.

“I thought we agreed, no more fighting,” Agatha interjected, stepping between the two of them. She glared at Gil, then Tarvek. “Now, what’s going on?”

Tarvek looked at Agatha. She’d never been perfectly skinny, either, and if the popular portrayals of Barry Heterodyne were anything to go by, her family had a certain predilection for plumpness. She’d struggled most of her life with how people saw her. And she also had a family whose history wasn’t perfectly spotless.

Not like the Wulfenbachs were paragons of goodness, but there was a reason that Mechanicsburg trembled before Agatha and not Gil.

Agatha’s upbringing, though, redefined the word “sheltered,” and she hadn’t been exposed to huge tragedies in her youth. Sure, her mother was the Other, but that wasn’t something she’d struggled with through her entire childhood.

Tarvek had ghosts he couldn’t escape, and while so did Agatha, hers were of a largely different breed.

And the mere thought of that had Tarvek unearthing skeletons he’d rather have left buried.

_Mother’s death Gil’s betrayal Tweedle’s schemes Gil in Paris Tinka Agatha Anevka Father Lucrezia all those girls…_

“I’ll tell you later,” he said calmly.

If Tarvek had been in his right mind, he would’ve probably thought twice about throwing Gil to the floor, but Tarvek wasn’t thinking. Instead, when Gil’s hand shot out to grab Tarvek’s shoulder, he’d reacted on instinct, and suddenly, Gil was gasping on the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

Tarvek’s eyes widened.

“Gil!” Agatha exclaimed, staring down at him with worried eyes.

“ ’M fine,” came Gil’s breathy reply. “Dammit…”

Tarvek swallowed. “I’m sorry…” He hoped his eyes conveyed the depth of his guilt as he offered Gil a hand up. Gil took his hand and instead of getting up, yanked Tarvek down beside him. Tarvek coughed and drove one fist into the stone floor to keep from swearing out loud.

“What was that for?” Gil demanded, voice still weak.

“I said I was sorry!” Tarvek sat up and rubbed at his chest. He’d landed on top of his own arm, and wasn’t looking forward to how this might feel tomorrow.

“Stop it, both of you!” Agatha said loudly. Tarvek turned to look up at her. “I swear I’m married to kindergarteners!”

“At least we don’t color on the walls,” Tarvek and Gil said at the same time. They looked at each other and smiled, albeit grudgingly. For an instant, Tarvek remembered the time they’d both been apprehended by Von Pinn for drawing unflattering caricatures in indelible pencil on the walls of Castle Wulfenbach. Among the sketches were Klaus, Sleipnir, and Boris.

If only things had gone differently aboard the Castle, Tarvek might’ve been able to grow up without his father’s influence. Prince Aaronev had wormed his way into Tarvek’s life so that his presence was a constant threat. Tarvek had hidden behind a mask ever since his return from Castle Wulfenbach so that his own father couldn’t see the real him. Tarvek wasn’t sure that he himself knew the real him anymore.

And when Aaronev died, Tarvek didn’t feel relief or catharsis. Instead, what he felt was a horrific reminder that Anevka had killed their mother, too.

His mother. Even she had barely been in Tarvek’s life, so it was hard to miss her. He had two memories of her, and one was of a bright red flare of light and the heavy thud of her body. He didn’t remember his father’s face, only his words: “That was a poor shot, Anevka.”

He had to do something about his weight gain. Tarvek wanted nothing that connected him to that scum more than he already regrettably was.

Gil was on his feet again, and Agatha’s hand was in Tarvek’s face, an offer to help him back up. “Tarvek, dear—”

_“Tarvek, dear,” came Lucrezia’s voice as she pressed Agatha’s body against him. “What are you doing?”_

_“Merely fixing you a new stimulant, my lady.” He had no trouble remembering that it was Lucrezia, not Agatha, sliding against him in that proprietary way. He felt cold._

_“I didn’t even need to ask. What a good boy,” she crooned, her lips brushing against his ear. Tarvek tried not to shudder. “I would expect nothing less of Wilhelm’s son.”_

“Don’t compare me to my father!” Tarvek snarled.

A horrible silence filled the room, and Tarvek froze as he realized he’d spoken aloud. He wasn’t in Lucrezia’s lab, but in their bedroom in Sturmhalten. Lucrezia was long gone, and so was his father. Gil and Agatha were there. They were staring in stunned silence at him.

Agatha stood above him looking almost shocked, and she held her hand back a little strangely, almost like she’d been…

Like she’d been slapped.

Tarvek must’ve hit her hand away in his momentary lapse in judgment. He winced and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Agatha.”

Gil’s look of concern was growing increasingly incredulous. “Tarvek…?”

Agatha eyes widened in surprise and her mouth fell slightly agape. “What’s going on?”

Tarvek paused, unsure how to continue. He wished he had a glass of wine in hand, and then realized that he should probably start switching to tea if he was serious about maintaining a healthier lifestyle. “For starters, Lucrezia called me ‘Tarvek, dear.’”

Agatha nodded once in understanding, but mercifully said nothing and stared at him, encouraging him to continue.

Tarvek sneaked a glance over at Gil, whose look was suddenly very neutral. Damn him. Tarvek knew on some level that this was done so that Gil wouldn’t scare Tarvek into keeping further secrets. It certainly had the added bonus of annoying Tarvek.

“I don’t know how to say this, and God knows it’s not that big of a deal, but…” Except it was. “But it is to me.”

“Then tell us,” said Agatha gently as she looked down at him. “Would it help if we all sat down?”

“Maybe,” he relented, and Agatha slowly (he swallowed heavily) extended a hand to each of them to help them up. She didn’t release his hand once he was up, though, and led them both over to their massive bed. At least, he considered, the time spent relocating had delayed his confession.

Once they were all seated, Gil and Agatha looking silently expectant, Tarvek swallowed and removed his glasses for an excuse to not meet their eyes. He began to needlessly clean them on the edge of his shirt. “You know why I don’t like admitting anything too personal.” He was declaiming, and he frowned before forcing himself to move onto the real issue. Any hope of delaying this information was thrown out the window when he’d slapped Agatha. “But I’m getting…” There had to be a better way to put this than baldly stating that he was afraid of getting fat. “I’m struggling with the idea that I’m…” Putting on weight? No, that wasn’t good, either.

For a moment, Tarvek was afraid that Gil might cut in with a scathing comment along the lines of, “Get to the point, Sturmvoraus!” Instead, Gil remained silent and attentive, which was somehow unnerving.

“I am becoming insecure, for a number of reasons, about the fact that I seem to be… in need of altering my eating habits.”

Tarvek replaced his glasses, hoping his expression didn’t reflect the fight-or-flight feeling roiling in his stomach. If they showed any indication of disgust… Well, he wasn’t sure if fight or flight would win out. Instead, Gil looked rather stunned, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe of bangs. Agatha, similarly dazed by the admission, stared at Tarvek wide-eyed.

Fighting down the urge to snap some cutting remark at them (“Yes, contrary to popular belief, I _do_ have human feelings, Wulfenbach!”), Tarvek wilted a little. Something had to be said, and perhaps a defensive comment might at least break the tension. “Go ahead. Laugh.”

“We weren’t going to,” Gil supplied after a moment, and Tarvek, for some reason, believed him.

“You said you had a number of reasons,” Agatha said slowly. “What are they?”

An interesting mixture of surprise, hope, and guilt seeped into Tarvek’s heart. He knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less than serious acceptance from either of them, but he couldn’t help it. Too many years had passed where no one would’ve cared. “Besides the obvious public image thing, there’s… well, you two,” he said. At least he could start with something relatively basic on the scale of normality.

“We love you, Tarvek,” Agatha said with a small smile. “That’s not going to change.”

He gave a sardonic smile. “That’s not the same thing as finding me attractive.”

“But… that hasn’t changed, either,” she pointed out. Bless her, she looked a little confused, as though she couldn’t conceive of a reason why a sudden weight gain might be a romantic deterrent. Gil’s face had screwed up into a derisive frown, like he, too, found the notion preposterous.

Tarvek’s smile turned a little more genuine. “I know that, but with my background, you can understand how I might struggle with accepting that.” He left unsaid all the baggage that went with his history, romantic, platonic, and familial. He’d have to revisit that topic later in further detail, but it wasn’t the heart of the issue.

“Your father,” Gil finally said. His tone conveyed nothing, but Tarvek suspected he’d guessed the reason why Tarvek had brought up Prince Aaronev earlier.

Tarvek’s gaze sharpened on Gil’s golden-brown eyes. Gil matched his stare, intense and intelligent. A moment later, Agatha straightened quickly as she connected Tarvek’s earlier outburst with his admission.

“You are nothing like your father,” she said in a low, fierce voice.

“I’m afraid that’s not quite true,” he said finally, “but thank you.”

Gil was quiet, and the look on his face plainly said that he’d recognized the truth behind Tarvek’s statement. He _was_ like his father in many ways. His propensity for scheming in the shadows rather than prioritizing integrity, his shrewd mind, his methodical scientific procedures, his warped moral compass… and now, apparently, his weight.

Tarvek’s grin felt ugly as he felt the beginnings of a Spark madness creep into his brain, suffocating reason. “At least my hairline hasn’t begun to recede.”

“At least, nothing!” Agatha shouted at him, shocking Tarvek out of his Spark-state. “And you!” She rounded on Gil, smacking his shoulder furiously.

“Ow!”

“You could at least be supportive!”

“He didn’t lie,” Tarvek pointed out quietly.

“But that’s no excuse!” Agatha was almost shouting, now, her own voice tinged with Spark-tones. “Your father was a horrible person and I’m not sorry he’s dead. Maybe you have some similarities with him, even! But you, Tarvek, you are trying to be good! You don’t hunt down women with the Spark to shove your dead lover into their heads! You’ve never tried to kill your own children! You’ve never tried to kill me! And you’ve never stopped caring about what happens to the rest of Europa.”

Tarvek started as he saw tears forming in her eyes, and suddenly, Agatha’s arms were around his neck. They went toppling backwards onto the mattress. Gingerly, he raised his arms to embrace her, carefully, as though she might break. He wondered if she was real, or if this was just a bizarre dream.

“She’s right,” Gil said quietly. “You plot and scheme and okay, sometimes you’re a devious weasel. But you’re not like your father. Not in the ways that matter.”

It was such a strange thing to hear Gil admit that Tarvek felt thrown for several moments. All right, so they _were_ married, and they _did_ trust and love each other. There were still days, though, when Gil needled him about his propensity towards immorality. It was odd enough that Tarvek’s brain hearkened back to the days when they would call each other by surnames, only, and he spoke without registering this. “Nice to hear you say that, Wulfenbach.”

“You’re both idiots,” Agatha finally said, a little fondly and a little sadly. She turned her head against Tarvek’s chest, facing in Gil’s direction, though she couldn’t see him well. She reached one hand out behind her, and Gil got the message. Ignoring her reach, he shifted to lie alongside them. Agatha rolled off of Tarvek’s chest so the three of them lay in a row beside each other, Tarvek squarely between them.

Tarvek swallowed heavily. He wasn’t entirely sure where that conversation had left them, though he was still determined to make certain dietary adjustments.

But Gil and Agatha hadn’t laughed at him. They’d listened to his concerns and had tried to reassure him that they were understandable, but unfounded. And they were still there.

Their presence alone made him feel better, even if he did feel a curl of shame in the pit of his stomach for having doubted them.

“You okay?” Gil asked again, his voice quiet.

Tarvek considered this. “A bit, yeah.” He kept his gaze locked on the ceiling.

A warm hand settled on his stomach, and Tarvek turned to look at Gil. He didn’t move, and nor did Gil. It was a simple touch, but one which, somehow, made Tarvek slowly relax. He smiled, just a little, at Gil. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Agatha laid her hand on top of Gil’s, and Tarvek looked over at her warm smile. “Good.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “Don’t bottle things up like that. It’s bad for you.”

“Sorry,” he said, a little contrite. “I didn’t mean to yell.” Tarvek turned back to Gil. “Hello, by the way.”

Gil smirked and leaned in for a kiss. “Hey.”

Later that night, Agatha and Gil got the chance to reassure Tarvek that they still found him desirable. Over the next several weeks, Tarvek improved his eating habits, changed his exercise routine, and began to see a slimmer physique in the mirror each day. He’d never look as toned as Gil, and that was okay. He had the reassurance of a husband and wife who both loved him through thick and thin – literally.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the fact that, in the GG audiobooks, Tarvek is described as being "stockier than he should've been." It doesn't seem like a stretch to consider that he might struggle with his weight a little. This isn't an entirely realistic fic... but it is, in a small part, based on a sort of explosion I've had about my own weight. That said, I've never had a serious, long-term personal issue with my weight, so those who HAVE might not find this accurate to their experiences. To my mind, Tarvek wouldn't be unhappy about something and then take no action whatsoever to fix it, especially not when he doesn't have his poisonous family to contend with. He's unhappy about his weight, so he tries to do something about it.
> 
> Though it might not be clear in the piece itself, my intention is to convey that this is done without prompt from Gil or Agatha, but only encouragement from them as they see that it's something he wants to do. I don't want to hint that being overweight to any degree is negative or bad, but unfortunately, it sometimes is viewed as such by some. This can occur when one views oneself, as I tried to show here.
> 
> All that said, I've got a mother who is a health and fitness coach, and she (privately, never to anyone outside of our family) has sometimes vented some insensitive things about others' weight. That's regrettably the environment I grew up in, and I've tried very hard to train myself out of thinking negatively of those who are overweight. I hope I have succeeded, and apologize if I have given or might give offense over the topic of weight, because I want to be as accepting and positive as possible where anyone's body image is concerned. 
> 
> I have tried very hard to give the impression that Tarvek's issues are self-perceived rather than spurred by others, which is why he takes action at the end - it is for himself, and since Agatha and Gil have let him know that their opinion on him is never going to change based on that aspect of himself, it is HIS choice. That he does this is not to imply that being fat is bad, that choosing to remain fat is bad, or that one cannot be fat and beautiful/handsome/hot/good-looking. It is because I thought that, based on my own personal view of Tarvek, he would want to lose some weight.


End file.
